


I'm Just a Boy with a New Haircut

by seondoks (orphan_account)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hair Kink, Haircuts, KiKasa Destiny Day, Kise's Ridiculous Antics, M/M, Serious Hair Drama, Why are they allowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/seondoks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kise has a Hair Problem, and so does Kasamatsu, by proxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Just a Boy with a New Haircut

Yukio doesn’t know why he takes it seriously at this point when Ryouta tells him that he has an “emergency” so he needs to “come see Yukio-san at once.” Ryouta uses every opportunity that he can to come down to Shibuya: his missing socks, a papercut, the latest development in The Kise Ryouta Saga of Split Ends. When he opens the door and sees Ryouta with a scarf draped over his head, sporting a pair of outlandishly large sunglasses, his suspicions are confirmed. He feels foolish for even being concerned in the first place.

"Ryouta, don't you have school?" he asks.

"This is no time to be worried about _school_!" Ryouta says. He walks inside and sits on the couch without another word.

Two cups of tea later, Ryouta has said nothing to clarify.

Sighing, Yukio rubs his temple. “Why are you dressed like that?” he ventures.

“Yukio-san, there’s a problem,” Ryouta says solemnly. As solemn as someone can be with a floral patterned scarf on their head. “Please say you’ll love me no matter what.” If he looked twice, Yukio is almost certain that he would see tears pooling in Ryouta’s eyes.

He takes deep breaths--three of them, in fact--and pats Ryouta’s knee. “Why don’t you calm down and take off the scarf first.”

Ryouta’s lip quivers, and Yukio feels his blood pressure rising. “Yukio-san, that’s exactly the problem!” he wails. Before Yukio has a chance to get in a word edgewise, Ryouta tears off the scarf.

Yukio blinks. He remembers that Ryouta was supposed to have a photoshoot yesterday; this must be his stylist’s latest handiwork. His hair’s been cropped short, no longer brushing into his eyes. It brings out his features and makes him look older, less like a high school student and more like the model that he is. Maybe Yukio should be a little horrified at how distracted he is from the issue at hand. “Uh,” he says tactfully.

“I knew it, I’m hideous!” Ryouta wails once more. “Look at me, Yukio-san, why did I let my stylist talk me into this!”

He reaches over and pats Ryouta’s hair consolingly--that is, he means to pat his hair, but then he realizes how soft his hair is, and how nice it feels in his fingers. “Don’t cry,” he says. He doesn’t stop stroking his hair, running his thumb over the hairs at his nape.

Ryouta cries about his stylist’s unforeseen betrayal and tells Yukio about his plans to terminate his contract first thing Monday morning. Yukio nods along absently. He really is trying to listen to what Ryouta is saying, but he’s starting to get short of breath. Ryouta suddenly stops crying and looks up at him.

“Yukio-san,” he says, “are you serious right now!”

“What?” Yukio snaps.

“I’m in the middle of a crisis and you’re--you’re feeling me up!” Ryouta shakes his head. “No, you’re feeling my _scalp_ up!”

Yukio feels himself blush. “You’re not having an actual crisis, brat!” He doesn’t deny it, though, because he still hasn’t stopped touching Ryouta’s hair. “At any rate, it’s not my fault.” Yukio can’t help wanting to know how it feels to pull on this new length of hair, how much easier it will be to make Ryouta whimper and beg to be touched.

“How is it ‘not your fault’?” Ryouta demands.

He might have a point in there somewhere, but Yukio can think about that later. There are other things that he wants addressed right now, like the hardness between his legs. “Ryouta,” he says, breath hitching. “Let’s just--please.”

Ryouta looks him up and down, pausing when he sees the tent in Yukio’s pants. He raises an eyebrow, before he wordlessly kneels in front of Yukio. He wastes no time getting his pants undone, pushing them down so that he can pull Ryouta’s face closer. “Ryouta, Ryouta, Ryouta, come on,” he gasps, running his hands through Ryouta’s hair.

Ryouta traces a finger over his cock. “You’re so eager today, Yukio-san.” He looks up at Yukio through his lashes, smiling crookedly. “Could it be you got turned on touching my hair?”

Before Yukio can deny anything, Ryouta swallows his cock, moaning around him. His mouth is hot and wet and Yukio can’t get enough of it. He feels heat shooting through him as he watches Ryouta intently sucking him off. They’ve done this countless times before, but Yukio can’t help staring at his mouth wrapped around his cock, the hollow of his cheeks, his head bobbing up and down.

“ _Fuck_.” Yukio tries to talk, to tell Ryouta how good he feels, but all he can manage is a string of “ _fuck_ ” and “ _Ryouta, yeah, like that_ ,” and “ _oh_.” Ryouta always looks good like this, but there’s an inexplicable appeal to his haircut. It almost makes him look shy as he sucks hungrily on Yukio’s cock. Yukio moans as he pets Ryouta, runs his hands through his hair, and yanks, enjoying the sensation between his fingers. He hears Ryouta’s helpless whimper, and he comes, white hot pleasure crashing down on him in waves.

When he finally comes down from his orgasm, he sees Ryouta licking cum off his lips. He shivers at the sight. It’s not possible that he’s ready to go again, and yet he’s watching intently as Ryouta rises from his position on the floor.

“This really is Yukio-san’s fault,” Ryouta says, as he starts to unbutton his shirt. His crisis is clearly forgotten along with his clothes on the floor. “Take responsibility,” he says, pulling Yukio towards the bed.

“What the hell are you even saying,” Yukio mutters. He follows Ryouta as he falls back onto the sheets, grinning up at Yukio.

Yukio grabs his face, running his fingers through his fringe. Ryouta laughs, kissing his face. “Do you like it that much?” he asks.

“Shut up,” Yukio says hotly.

“If you say so.” He kisses Yukio, licking into his mouth and pressing their tongues together. Yukio pulls him in closer, eager to feel Ryouta’s skin against his own. It’s been too long since they’ve done this last, and he missed it--missed the way Ryouta sighs into his mouth and says his name breathlessly.

“Here,” he says, reaching to touch Ryouta’s cock. He can’t believe he’s this hard already, even though Yukio has barely touched him. It makes Yukio want to push him down face first into the mattress and fuck him hard. He can, soon; Yukio needs to be patient, to make sure that Ryouta feels good. He teases the head of Ryouta’s cock, running his thumb across it just like Ryouta likes.

“No, um.” He grabs Yukio’s wrist, pushing his hand away. “I want Yukio-san to fuck me.” Ryouta looks him in the eye, not at all embarrassed about asking for what he wants. He pushes the lube into Yukio’s hands and sits up against the headboard, spreading his legs wide.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Okay.” He pours the lube into his hand and takes a good look at Ryouta, tries to take in this moment for all its worth.

“Stay still and be a good boy for me, Ryouta,” he says.

The response is immediate: Ryouta gasps, nodding eagerly as Yukio leans in and pushes a finger against his hole. “Please please please,” Ryouta gasps, trying to push himself down onto Yukio’s finger. “Don’t tease me, Yukio-san.”

Yukio doesn’t need to be told twice. He presses a finger inside, watching Ryouta’s face as he stretches him open. He’s long since learned that he doesn’t need to ask Ryouta if he’s ready for another finger, not when he’s like this, loudly begging for more. It doesn’t take much longer before he has three fingers inside Ryouta.

“I want you inside me,” he whimpers.

“Yeah, yeah I will.” He strokes Ryouta’s cheek and kisses him softly, pulling his fingers out. “I will, whatever you want.”

Ryouta is impatient as ever, grinding down against the sheets as he waits for Yukio to spread lube over his cock. He whines about how slow Yukio is and how badly he wants to be fucked.

“Stop being such a brat,” Yukio says, pressing against his hole. “I said I would fuck you.”

Ryouta isn’t listening anymore, though, because Yukio is pushing into the tight heat between his legs. He cries out and starts fucking himself down onto Yukio’s cock.

“Yukio--Yukio-san, oh, _fuck_.” The flush on Ryouta’s face travelled down his neck, where sweat is beading in the hollow of his throat. His hair, too, is matted against his forehead, and Yukio really thinks that he could eat him up.

“Ryouta, Ryouta, yeah, like that,” he says, watching in awe as Ryouta trembles in his arms. He shifts, changing the angle, and Ryouta’s gone, arching up off the bed as he screams out Yukio’s name. Yukio feels him clenching tight around his cock, and he moans. “Yeah, that’s it, come for me.”

And Ryouta does, muffling his shouts into Yukio’s neck. Yukio follows not long after, heat melting down his spine. He slumps against Ryouta, trying to catch his breath. They stay like that for a few minutes, and Ryouta strokes his shoulder, pressing kisses into the skin there. He moans when Yukio finally pulls out, and he helps him lay down. He kisses Ryouta’s temple as he cleans them up.

“I can’t believe that this is the sort of reaction you had to my hair,” Ryouta says weakly.

“Like you have a problem with it,” Yukio mutters, a little embarrassed. It doesn’t, however, stop him from running his hand through Ryouta’s hair again.

Ryouta pretends to shrug. “Guess not.” He smiles up at Yukio. “At least I know that Yukio-san will still put out for me even without my glorious mane.”

Yukio feels his face heat up. “What the hell!”

“Yukio-san came at me like a starved man in the desert looking for water,” Ryouta sighs. His eyes get that starry, far away look that they do sometimes, usually when he’s thinking about another round of sex.

“Are you done yet?”

“Yukio-san’s so silly, I’m never done,” Ryouta says, pressing up against his side. “Cuddle me!”

Yukio sighs, and Ryouta rolls into his arms, rubbing his cheek against Yukio’s. He’s ridiculous and selfish and honest to a fault, but Yukio knows he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. “You’re spoiled rotten, brat.”

Ryouta’s giggle turns into a yawn. “That’s Yukio-san’s fault too,” he says, and kisses his cheek. He falls asleep soon after that, using Yukio’s arm as a pillow. If Yukio thinks that the drool trailing down his chin is endearing, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

\----

\---

-

**Author's Note:**

> Happy KiKasa Destiny Day, everyone! I hope that you enjoyed. The art that inspired this work can be found [here](https://twitter.com/jipbijip/status/360632266541633536/photo/1). Thank you to the artist and to my Aibou for always cheering me on. May the KiKasa fanworks flow plentifully.
> 
> Title of the fic is taken from "Cut Your Hair" by Pavement.
> 
> Thanks again!


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